The bug certainly moves when I throw open the patio door. “Jade?” I call out to her.
“Yes, Mama?” She calls back… from inside the house.
Um, no. If she’s inside, how is my door unlocked? I did not, would not, leave the backdoor unlocked.
Checking doors is one of my rituals before I leave the house. We’re two girls living on our own. Nothing is more important than my girl’s safety.
“Nothing sweetie, never mind.” I call back up to her.
For safety, I do a onceover of the entire house, checking every room upstairs and down. Not one thing of value seems to be missing. Not our televisions. Not my laptop. Not my copper pots from the kitchen. Not even the prescription meds they sent home for Jade after her discharge.
With that said, I don’t know if I should call the police. They’d probably think I’m just some silly woman who thinks she locked the door. What if this one time I really hadn’t?
I bring my hands to rest against my hips and bite my bottom lip while standing in the threshold between the living room and kitchen, unsure if I should feel scared or stupid. The time for water has passed. I need a beer and move back to the refrigerator to grab one.
The home phone rings as I pull a cold brew from the bottom shelf. So I close the door to answer. That’s when I see it. The missing thing.
How had I missed it before? Jade’s preschool picture, the one I keep in a magnetic photo frame on the upper freezer door so I can look at it whenever I walk to the fridge. It’s not in the magnetic frame.
The phone quits ringing by the time Jade runs it over to me, her face clearly says she’s confused as to why I didn’t answer.
Someone broke into my house. Someone. Broke into my house. My house. Where I sleep. Where my daughter sleeps. And they took her picture. Literally took her picture from my house.
“Oh god.” My hand shoots to my mouth. I stumble back a few steps. My whole body begins to tremble as what Duke said to me yesterday comes back in a rush. Being with him might make Jade and I persons of interest. And Houdini escaped capture. The same Houdini who targeted women attached to the club. I mean, it couldn’t be him, could it? Duke has hardly spent any time with us. Unless he’s watching Duke. This is crazy, absolutely bonkers. Why would Houdini want a picture of my daughter?
Duke would know.
I need to call him.
Calmly, so as not to worry my girl, I walk into the living room, over to the coffee table to fish my cell from my purse then immediately hit Duke’s contact. “Doc?” He answers without a hello. “Just need to get a few more things done before I can make—”
“Someone broke into my house.” I cut him off.
“What the fuck?” he barks.
“The… the latch on my patio door was unlocked, and Jade’s school picture is missing from the refrigerator.”
“Get Peaches. Get out to the truck. Now.”
“No one’s here, Chief.”
“Lock the doors.” He talks over me. Not listening. “I’m on my way. Calling Tommy. Doc?” He prompts, when I say nothing, then, “Caitlin.”
I jolt. “Yes. I’m here.”
“Know you’re there. Where you should be is in the truck. Now.” He reiterates.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Jade, sweetheart. Come here.”
Since it’s only been the two of us for so long, even though she’s young, she reads me and doesn’t argue, knowing I mean business.
Grabbing up my purse and the keys, I swing my girl into my arms and move outside into the, thankfully, bright sunshine to the cab of the truck. Where I lock the doors and wait. Houdini took a picture of my daughter. My daughter. I’ll die before I let him hurt her. My Hippocratic Oath be damned, he’ll die by my hands if he tries.
It takes everything in me not to vomit, swallowing back the bile rising in my throat about once a minute. After six swallows, Tommy’s cruiser rolls up to the curb in front of our home and only seconds after that, the rumble from pipes cuts the air. Although Duke shows up in his old pickup, not his bike. The pipe rumbles come from all the brother’s rallying.
I jump out of the truck, a trembling Jade still in my arms, and rush to him. The closer we get, the more I can’t control the fear or my rapidly beating heart. A stupid sob rips through me as we collide, and his strong arms wrap around us. And maybe that’s why the sob comes, because in Duke’s arms, my daughter and I are safe. Nothing can touch us, not with his strong hands holding us to him, stroking up and down my back. So big, he engulfs the two of us. A mountain of muscled power.
“Shh…” he coos, so soft. “I got you. I got you both.”
I hiccup then laugh at my own stupidity. And face-plant against his shoulder.
“Doc.” Although his tone remains soft, he’s put more power behind it to get my attention. I don’t respond verbally, but look up so he knows I’m listening. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. You and Peaches pack a few bags, ’cuz you’re coming to stay with me in my house.”
“We can’t stay here?” I ask, lamely. Clearly the fear making me not think straight.
“My house is on the compound. It’ll be safer for you. At least ’til we get that patio door replaced. The easiest doors to break into. Jesse’s driving my old truck back, so I can ride with my girls. Your escort starts today. If I ain’t with you, Jesse’s carting you around. He’s a good man. A good recruit. You can trust him.”
I open my mouth to agree, but Duke mistakes my intentions. “Please don’t argue. I need you and Peaches safe.”
He needs us safe? Needs, not wants.
“I wasn’t going to argue. Actually, I was about to say, ‘okay.’ I need us to be safe as well.”
9.
Caitlin
“Try to only touch what you need to touch.” Tommy orders us after he’s taken my statement. “We need to dust for prints. Though, if this is Houdini, which I hope to god it ain’t, we won’t find any.”
Both he and Duke follow me around upstairs and down as I pack a few bags of essentials for Jade and me. I left her outside clinging a death grip in the arms of Jesse. Hero, Sneak and Carver check out my backyard for any more signs of Houdini’s presence.
After I’ve packed two bags for each of us, Duke hefts them over one shoulder, and taking my hand, leads me back downstairs. “Need anything else before we leave?”
“No. Thank you. My purse is in the truck.”
“Good deal. Tommy, you need any more from Doc?”
Sgt. Tommy Doyle gives his head one sharp shake then squats down to open a kit he’d set down on the front stoop when he’d arrived, to fish a pair of blue latex gloves out and shove them over his hands.
We leave Tommy and his police brethren to search my house.
The brothers ride off, some in front of the pickup, some to the back like a convoy. A different recruit mans the gate since Jesse’s been promoted to protection detail. He opens the gate for us, then as the bikes drive straight, Duke turns to the right to park his truck under a carport attached to a gorgeous painted white wraparound porch off the pretty blue doublewide. Flower boxes and hanging baskets overflow with red and pink perennials.
Several other double and singlewides dot the grounds, but this one is by far, the cutest. My umbrella table and chairs would look great on the back stone patio, an extension off the covered porch, with a clear view of the woods and mountains.
Plenty of room for a little girl to play.
Without thinking, I admiringly tell him what his yard screams for. “You need a swing set.”
“Sorry?” he asks.
Thankfully I start thinking once more, enough to realize my faux pas. “Oh, nothing.” I reply. “I was overstepping again.”
“Something you or Peaches need?” He stares out to the open acreage, along with me.
“No. Nothing we need. Just me being foolish.”
“Then let’s go inside.”
We climb out of the truck, Jade in my arms because Duke once again, hefts all four of our
bags over his shoulder as we walk up the steps to a side door which opens into a large utility room. He has a nice, front loading washer and dryer and a couple wicker hampers with probably a week’s worth of dirty laundry stuffed inside. A dusty blue washer and dryer. White wicker hamper. I’m sensing a theme.
From the utility room, we emerge into a huge, open plan kitchen. Smack in the center is a ginormous butcher-block island with an attached bar along the back where four white barstools sit snuggly pushed under the lip. The stools are white with dingy from use, flowery chintz fabric covering each. Not the fabric a biker would choose.
All the cabinets have been painted white, the upper ones fitted with glass fronted panels. All the doors, to the utility room and I assume a pantry, are white as well as all the appliances. A short curtain made from the same flowery chintz fabric of the stools, hangs from the window over the sink, which looks out into the backyard.
Next to the kitchen he walks us through the dining area. More white on the rectangle table legs with a varnished tabletop, the same blond wood as the butcher block. A variation on the flowery chintz, although using the same colors, each high-backed farm chair has a cushion. And long chintzy curtains drape from a rod, framing each side of a set of double French doors.
Very pretty. Very girly. Again, not at all where I’d expect a biker like Duke to live. Too much flowery, even for me. My denim covered sofa would fit in nicely in this space. Something hearty, but with class. That’s what Duke needs.
First we stop at a smallish room of four white walls and a window with standard, white horizontal blinds, no curtains. There’s a twin bed with a faded, navy blue comforter and two pillows in white cases. A guest room, which will work as a temporary room for Jade, although I know she’ll miss her pink princess room back home. Though, he has an older television and a DVD player. So she should be happy.
Duke drops her bags next to the bed. I’ll get her settled after the rest of the tour.
There are two more rooms the same smallish size of Jade’s, but without bedding. One he uses for storage and for bike parts. And one, stark empty. Those three share a decent sized bathroom with a large tub-shower combination and double vanity, along with the commode.
At the back of the home, last room in the hallway, he leads me into the master suite. I’m not sure why one man would need so much space. Granted, he’s filled it with a king sized bed. The headboard pressed center to the main wall opposite the door we entered. There’s a walk-in closet as big as the room Jade will sleep in and a master bath with a swimming pool for a bathtub, complete with hot tub jets, a separate two person shower, double vanity and a separate, sectioned-off “room” for our other bathroom needs.
My heart breaks even more for Duke as I walk around the place. He’d set my bags down in the closet and now just watches me, arms resting at his hips. A single man with all this room. In a house made for a family. The man has so much love to give. He’s already given glimpses. But has lost his world.
Thus, I walk over to him, wrap my hand around the back of his neck to pull his head down, as I go up on tiptoe for us to meet in the middle, and place the tenderest kiss I could imagine against his perfect lips.
Duke being Duke, he takes over the kiss.
Duke being Duke, it quickly turns from tender to heated. He lifts me, both hands hold my bottom as he urges me to wrap my legs around his hips, but he doesn’t move to the bed. Only holding me there in that spot, making out in a room I presume we’ll be sharing. Making out hot and heavy.
When the kiss comes to its natural conclusion, still panting like I’d just been making out hot and heavy, I ask the most mundane question in the world. “What do you want for dinner, Chief?”
Two slow blinks and stares at me, then barks out a beautifully boisterous laugh.
“You cooking tonight, honey?”
“Absolutely. You like stuffed peppers? I make an awesome Italian stuffed pepper. Even Jade eats them.”
“Should probably make enough we have drop ins. Men find out a woman’s cooking here, bound to make ’emselves at home. At least the men without women at home to take care ’a ’em.”
“Boss is out on a run. We should invite Elise and baby Gun over, too.”
He starts laughing again, downgraded to a snicker, though it still makes me smile.
“What?” I ask.
“Been here ten minutes and your already planning a fucking dinner party.”
“I don’t… we don’t…” I sputter. He squeezes me again.
“Just giving you a hard time, honey. Be good to fill the house again.”
Oh.
My burly biker wants to fill the house again. Foolish as it may seem, it makes me happy to be the one to give him that. A night hanging out, no pieces, no pressure to be or act a certain way. Just friends eating and maybe enjoying a few beers together.
Then, because he must sense my feelings, Duke hugs me. “Make a list, Doc. Everything you think your gonna need, ’cuz chances are, I won’t have it. Don’t do a lot of shopping. Go up to the clubhouse and eat whatever one ’a the women makes.”
We walk back into the kitchen, and he shows me a drawer where he keeps a scratch pad and pen. I write down, one by one, all of the ingredients I’ll need for the peppers, and the dessert I decide on the spot to make. Then Guinness. Milk. Breakfast and lunch options, and other sundries such as sugar, flour and butter. Sundries most people keep standard in their pantry.
Once I hand him off the list Duke phones Jesse—because Jesse has Caitlin duty and Caitlin duty apparently involves all things Caitlin, which in this case would include grocery shopping—to come grab the list. Which he does right away. And takes the keys to the old pickup.
While my bodyguard shops for us, I unpack Jade. Clothes hung up in the closet and moved to the one dresser in the room. Then take her body wash, shampoo, toothbrush and toothpaste to the bathroom across the hall.
I can hear Duke on the phone again, but his words are murmured. So I move to the master to unpack myself. After I’m done, I sit on the bed and stare out the window, watching the leaves of the trees blow in the soft, summer breeze.
Not knowing how long I’ve sat here, I know it has to be a while when Duke calls into the room. “Honey, Jesse’s back.”
When all the groceries have been put away, leaving out what I need to start dinner, I take note that Duke needs canisters. For flour. For sugar. They keep the bugs out. He needs newer pots and pans, too. Copper or cast iron. Like I have at my house.
Come to think of it, Duke needs a lot of new. And that’s when it hits me. His home life stalled when his wife died. He’d thrown himself into the club to compensate for her loss. As such, his home turned time capsule. Not even a shrine to her, but a representation of how his life stopped when hers did.
Which makes the fact that he brought me and my daughter here to stay, even temporarily, mean even more than it otherwise might have. At least for me.
I pull a pot for rice from the pot shelf in the pantry, fill it with the appropriate amount of water per the rice directions, throw in a Jade-size handful of salt, replace the lid securely and set the pot on the back burner to come to boil.
From there it’s a whole lot of chopping, grating, sautéing. Dicing to chiffonade. Not to mention measuring, zesting, mixing and pouring for the gooey Limoncello cake I’m preparing for dessert.
The house smells amazing, if I do say so myself, from the lemon and Italian herbs and sweet sausage.
“Where’d you learn to cook?” Duke surprises me by asking.
“When I was a girl, I spent every summer in Ireland with my grandma. She was a wonderful cook. Lived a glamorous life, lived all over. Had lots of affairs before she settled down with my grandfather. Some even with famous men. Actors. Producers. She’d tell me saucy stories about her life while we cooked and canned and baked. Stories my parents would have freaked out if they’d known she shared. As a parent, I’d freak, too.” As I talk about my grandma, a hint of accent comes
through, as it always does. Maybe because I hear her stories spoken in her soft Irish lilt, in my head.
“Sounds wonderful.”
“Some of the best times of my life. My grandma was my best friend. When I cook, even things we never made together, I think of her for the simple fact that she’s the one who taught me. Though… you’ll be happy to know…” I huff hair from my eyes, not wanting to touch it which would mean stopping my work to rewash my hands. “The stuffed peppers are mine. But the Limoncello cake is hers. Something she picked up when she lived in Rome for a summer. With a famous Italian producer, I might add.”
“Lips,” he says bizarrely non sequitur.
“Come again?” I ask, pulling my brows together.
“Lips,” he says again. This time sounding more like an order.
As he stares, pursed perfect lips waiting for it to click, it clicks.
Oh, lips.
I stretch my body over the island to lean in and give Duke my lips. I guess he likes my sharing.
Our moment gets interrupted when we hear a female voice say, “Knock, knock.” At the same time hear the double rap of a fist against the front screen door. Duke has central air, but opened the windows and doors to let the breeze flow through the space.
Elise, with baby Gun in a carrier, stands waiting and I don’t mind one bit she interrupted. “Will you get that, Chief?”
He brushes his thumb over my cheek before walking over to the front door and holds it open for our first guest to pass through. “It was unlocked,” he says, and grumbles.
“But it’s rude to just enter someone’s home.” Elise protests.
“You just enter the clubhouse.”
“But that’s not your home.” She continues to argue her point.
“She’s got you there, Chief.” I decide to chime in.
And that’s when Jade who’d been watching movies in her room and most likely heard voices thus came out to be nosey, spies Gun and screeches. “A BABY!” Then she makes a beeline straight for Elise and her son.
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